


Nurse!Sammy

by luckjustkissedyouhello



Series: Rollercoastermoon's Whumptober 2020 Fics [10]
Category: King Falls AM (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Violence, Sick Ben, Vomiting, Whumptober 2020, adverse reaction, nurse!sammy, reglan is an awful drug, sammy stevens has anxiety, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27754198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckjustkissedyouhello/pseuds/luckjustkissedyouhello
Summary: Ben is sick. Sammy panics. At the hospital, Ben panics harder.
Relationships: Ben Arnold & Sammy Stevens
Series: Rollercoastermoon's Whumptober 2020 Fics [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946800
Comments: 16
Kudos: 26
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As requested, Ben having an adverse reaction to a drug.
> 
> Who says Whumptober could only be in October, anyway?

Ben thinks he might be dying. 

And yeah, in the grand scheme of things, everyone is dying, but Ben is pretty sure he’s going to be meeting his maker sooner rather than later. He woke up this morning (okay, it was three am) and he immediately ran for the bathroom. Lily just got over a stomach bug a little over a week ago. Of course Ben caught it - he’s been running himself ragged, they all have, and now his immune system is in the toilet. 

Which, conveniently, is where he is, has been for the last six hours. Curled around the toilet in the dark, bringing up everything he’s ever eaten. His guts hurt to the point where he’s afraid he’s damaged something irreparably with the force of his yacking. The muscles over his ribs, across his belly, scream at him every time he retches. His mouth tastes disgusting, but the one time he stood up and started to brush his teeth, he puked in the sink. 

At some point, he was able to curl up on the rug and get a little sleep. He thought about going back to his room, crawling if he had to, since he’s so freaking shaky that he’s not sure he can stand, but he got as far as kneeling up before he was sick, again. Ben can’t clean up a mess feeling like this. So he stays in the bathroom, close to the toilet and on easy to clean tiles. 

He’s currently slumped against the toilet, eyes closed but awake. It’s been at least a half-hour since he last puked. He kind of wishes he had his phone with him. He considers for like the umpteenth time calling out for help. But Lily just got over being sick and needs the rest. And if Sammy hasn’t heard him vomiting up his intestines it means he’s deep asleep. And Sammy doesn’t get a lot of deep asleep type sleeps. Ben doesn’t want to wake his insomniac roommate. 

Of course, just as he has that thought for the however many-th time, the bathroom door is thrown open, making Ben open his bleary eyes, and Sammy comes stumbling in. His hand is already going into the slit in his pajama pants and Ben has the hysterical thought: ‘ _Oh god Sammy is gonna piss on me_ ’ and he can’t get himself to speak or move, he’s that exhausted, his shock has short-circuited his brain, but then Sammy seems to wake up more and he registers Ben’s huddled form on the floor. 

Unfortunately, he registers it with a fucking scream that could wake the dead. After, Sammy stands there, hand to his chest, panting for a long moment before he speaks. “Jack-in-the-box-Jesus, Ben! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He asks, which is a fair question all things considered. Then Sammy seems to really look at him, clutching the toilet and hardly able to sit up. Ben’s sure he looks awful. “Fuck. Are you okay?”

Ben shakes his head weakly, and ~~embarrassingly~~ feels new tears spring to his eyes - each time he hurls his eyes stream water, but these aren’t physiological response tears, these are tears of misery. “No,” he says, his voice wobbling, in case the crying wasn’t enough of an indication of how goddamn awful he feels. He’d be embarrassed if he hadn’t just spent the last however many hours getting a good look at his intestines coming out through his mouth.

Sammy frowns. It’s his ‘someone I love is in distress and I need to fix it’ face. Ben mentally readies himself. Lily had spent the last two weeks, even now that she’s been keeping food down for a week, under the care of Nurse!Sammy (yes Ben sees it in his head like that, exclamation point and all), and now, it seems that it’s going to be Ben's turn.

It’s not that he’s ungrateful. But. Sammy can be intensely protective. Lily was barely allowed to use the remote to change the tv channels. Sammy is still screening everything she puts in her mouth (‘ _Really Lily, do you think you should be eating_ cheese _right now?_ ’ did _not_ go over well - Sammy had to wash queso out of his hair) and has hidden all the alcohol in the apartment. Lily finally left their place in protest, going to stay with Katy Lynch. 

Sammy leaves the bathroom. Ben thinks, for a minute, that Sammy has left him, and he tries not to cry at the loss (really, it’s not his fault, he’s just exhausted and sore and he wanted the option of saying ‘no’ to Sammy’s ministrations, damnit). Then Sammy’s back, holding a pair of dry, clean washcloths, and Ben feels stupid for ever thinking Sammy would abandon him on the bathroom floor. If Sammy, the absolute worst fucking sympathy spewer Ben’s ever met, the man who got sick half a dozen times himself (that Ben knew of, and he suspects it was more often, but Sammy felt bad making Lily feel bad and it’s Sammy - he’s disturbingly, frighteningly good at hiding his own discomfort) in the last week cleaning up after Lily, could handle Lily ‘help is something that happens to other peole’ Wright, could push past his sympathy spewing to nurse Lily, he sure wouldn’t abandon Ben. Ben would feel more guilty about thinking Sammy abandoned him if Sammy actually told him where he was going.

Which….that’s kinda an unfair thought, once Ben thinks about it. Ben’s not so sure Sammy’s been sleeping well. He doesn’t when one of them is sick or hurt or something. Sammy’s been sleeping with his bedroom door open to hear if Lily needed anything and Ben knows for a fact that freaks Sammy out to the point of him not being able to fall asleep (one of the many facts Ben has filed under ‘Things I Would Like to Talk to Sammy About but Know He'll just Clam Up and Run Away’). Point is...Sammy Stevens is not a morning person on a good day, in a good week, let alone after a week of looking after their ill roommate. Sammy’s brain may not be fully online yet. ‘ _Fuck, maybe I am lucky Sammy didn’t piss on me,_ ’ Ben thinks, which is...not a thought he ever expected he’d have. 

“Here,” Sammy says, voice much softer now that he’s aware Ben isn’t feeling well...and not curled around the toilet in a bid to scare the fuck out of him, or something...whatever half-awake Sammy thought was going on. He hands Ben a damp washcloth. Ben takes it with about as much comprehension as Sammy had a moment before. “For your face...clean your mouth last,” Sammy elaborates. Which is good because Ben really was going to start with his mouth and stop there.

Ben makes a sound he hopes conveys his gratitude. He barely has the energy to drag the cool, blessedly cool, cloth down his face, scrubbing at his ~~stupid leaky~~ eyes, and over his mouth. To his surprise, it does kind of help. He resolutely does not look at the mess on the washcloth and folds it in half before handing it back up to Sammy. 

“How long have you been in here?” Sammy asks, turning on the water and filling one of the tiny paper shot glass sized cups halfway. He pours a tiny bit of mouthwash into the cup and swirls his wrist. He sees the confusion Ben is sure is all over his face. “Figured the taste of straight-up mouthwash might flip your stomach,” he explains, holding the cup out to Ben. 

“Oh. Yeah. It did. The sink—“ Ben starts forgetting to answer Sammy’s question in his haste to warn Sammy about the sink. 

“—I’ll get it,” Sammy says it so easily like he’s not going to have to wait until Ben’s out of the way so he can yack after. Ben pretends he doesn’t know that - it seems like the kindest thing to do. 

“Thanks,” he says instead, rinsing his mouth out with weak mouthwash. For a minute, he thinks Sammy’s right, this will make it easier to stomach, but then he moans weakly as his guts contract painfully and he’s dry heaving into the toilet.

Ben tries, very politely, to ignore the sound of Sammy gagging into the sink. Jack-in-the-Box-Jesus. You’d think he’d step down as Nurse!Sammy given he can’t fucking not puke if someone else is puking. “You can go, dude. Imma stay right here until I die,” Ben tells him, words a bit slurred by his exhaustion. He’s still got his eyes closed, head resting on his forearm that’s across the bowl of the toilet. 

“I’m okay,” Sammy says, voice rough but firm. “And you’re not dying, Ben. You’ll be alright in a few days.”

Ben groans at the idea of feeling like this for a few more hours, let alone days. How did Lily survive this? 

Sammy must turn on the sink again, rinsing his own mouth out, if the sounds Ben can hear is any indication. And...cleaning the sink. Hopefully not looking at the mess in it. Ben was already afraid Sammy would piss on him, he can’t handle also fearing Sammy will vomit on him on the same day. That thought makes him laugh, which turns to a moan of pain as he clutches at his aching stomach muscles.

“Ben?” Oh. Sammy sounds very worried. 

“It’s nothing. My stomach just hurts from trying to turn itself inside out all night long.” He remembers Sammy’s earlier question and says: “I’ve been in here since like three a.m. I’m just sore.”

Sammy huffs a disbelieving ‘mmhmm.’ He doesn’t believe Ben is okay, but he’s too good of a friend to push Ben while Ben is literally hugging a toilet bowl. Ben peels open an eye to see Sammy wetting the other clean washcloth and folding it in thirds. Ben can’t figure out why Sammy then drops the wet washcloth over his shoulder, getting the t-shirt he sleeps in wet, but...Nurse!Sammy is a mysterious being of mystery, apparently.   
“Think you can stand?” 

Ben makes a sound that might be construed as a yes, and gets to his knees, bracing his hands on the toilet bowl to stand. He can’t stand up fully, his guts hurt that much, so he’s hunched over, one arm across his lower belly, but he’s standing. 

Sammy is really frowning at him, that worried look back on his face, but, like, tripled. “I’m good,” Ben promises, but Sammy looks like he believes him about as much as he believes in Big John.

“Couch?” Sammy asks. 

Ben nods. Laying down on the couch sounds nice. Better than in his room with no TV. Of course, he realizes as they’re halfway there, it means that he has to walk further. He's shaky and, damn, sweating by the time he gets to the couch. 

He drops down too hard, and curses as a stabbing pain shoots through his gut. Goddamn, that hurts. Like, pain radiating across his stomach hurts. Sammy’s frown is up to like quadruple strength when Ben finally uncurls and looks up at him. 

“Lilly wasn’t hurting like this,” Sammy says, worry clear in his voice. He reaches out and touches Ben’s forehead. “I’m getting the thermometer, you feel warm.”

Ben decides arguing is for guys with more energy than he has. Even on his best of days, he’s not going to win against Nurse!Sammy. So he just (carefully) lays down, pulling the blanket draped on the back of the couch over himself. Sammy comes back, holding both the bathroom garbage can, emptied of its bag and with the second washcloth draped over the edge - oh joy, he gets the puke bucket - and the thermometer. Ben doesn’t argue, he lets Sammy take his temperature. Again, there is no fighting the man. Surrender, especially hurting as much as he does (what the heck did he do to his stomach muscles?), is the best course of action. 

“Lily didn’t have a fever,” Sammy says, over his shoulder as he walks to the kitchen. Ben hears him banging around, pulling out draws, the microwave humming...he has no earthly idea what Sammy’s doing in there. 

His answer comes a few minutes later, almost right as the thermometer beeps. Ben’s gone cross-eyed looking but he’s sure he’s got a fever. Sammy has a paper plate with dry toast and a mug of tea that is so pale Ben thinks Sammy only showed the hot water the teabag.

“Hundred and one,” Sammy tells him as if Ben didn’t know. He feels like he has a fever. Every bit of him hurts.

Ben looks at the pieces of toast, one slice cut into fours - no crust - and back up at Sammy. Sammy fixes him a look, and motions for him to sit up. Ben does as told because he doubts Sammy will let him get away with not trying to eat. Still, sitting up _hurts_.

Sammy sits down, gently, next to him, holding both the plate and the tea so Ben doesn’t have to. Ben can’t help it, he feels awful, he spent the night on the floor of the bathroom, he needs comfort. He rests his head on Sammy’s shoulder. Okay, so he’d do that if he wasn’t sick, but...it’s nice now.

“Try and at least drink the tea. It’s got a tiny bit of sugar in it. You’re shaking.” Sammy sounds so worried. How can Ben say no?

Ben takes a sip, Sammy nuked the water so it was only warm not boiling. And it’s peppermint, not black tea. At Ben’s surprised sound, Sammy says: “Peppermint settles the stomach. I bought it for Lily.”

Ben manages a few more sips. Until his hand is shaking holding up the mug. Sammy takes it from him and sets it on the end table. Ben is sick, tired, so tired, and achy. He doesn’t think about it, he just asks what’s on his mind (an impulse he has to shove down every minute of every day - and usually he can, but not now). “This what your mom used to do for you when you were sick as a kid?” He asks, and regrets almost immediately when Sammy goes from sitting loose-limbed and relaxed to ramrod straight, so tense he’s almost vibrating, in the space of a breath. 

Ben winces, he’s not trying to poke at Sammy’s walls or anything (Jack-in-the-Box-Jesus knows he doesn’t have the strength for that right now) but he genuinely wants to know where Sammy learned to play nursemaid so well. Ben is afraid Sammy will get up, run away like he does when he doesn’t want to talk about things, and he makes a small distressed sound at the thought of losing his Sammy shaped pillow, the one source of comfort he has. He’s so afraid of that happening that he cheats (as if the sound he made alone won’t keep Sammy glued to the couch) and wraps his arm across Sammy’s chest, holding onto him. 

Sammy sighs and deflates - not quite relaxing, but at least some of the flight collapses down. Ben feels kinda guilty but he also knows Sammy is going to take a heart attack one day if he doesn’t let some of the dark shit out of him. 

Sammy confirms it, quietly admitting: “No.” After a minute he goes on: “Comforting wasn’t really my mother’s style. She…” Sammy trails off, raising a hand to rub along Ben's forearm draped across his chest, almost absently, it seems. “Just...didn’t care all that much about much of anything to do with me.” Sammy is still so tense he’s vibrating, and his voice is all forced casualness trying to hide genuine pain. But he doesn’t get up, and he actually just spoke about his past pre-Jack and Lily. 

Ben thinks he should ask Sammy questions about his childhood from his deathbed more often since it seems to be the only time he gets an answer. Then he recognizes how screwed up that thought is, and mentally chastises himself. He’s silent for a long moment, long enough that Sammy slowly relaxes back down to boneless, and thinks of Lily’s face when Sammy handed her the tea and toast cure he just presented Ben with - crustless and cut in fours. “ _Oh_ ,” Ben says before his brain can tell his mouth to shut the hell up. 

Sammy tenses up but then relaxes, a full-body fight or flight muscle contraction Ben has seen him do a thousand times since Fucking Frickard outed him and Ben learned about Jack, except now Sammy does it in a single moment, rather than stay contracted, tense and ready to spring away for minutes, hours, _days_. Now it’s just a quick flinch of a reaction that’s gone before most people even notice. But Ben, who’s been marking the level of Sammy’s comfort via tense muscles, is acutely, always aware of - even when he’s not resting his head on Sammy’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” Sammy breaths out, after a moment. “It’s what Jack would do for me. Peppermint tea and dry toast without the crust, cut in four.” He doesn’t sound all sad like he used to be when he spoke about Jack, there’s some happiness in there. Ben counts it as a win. “His mom used to do it for him and Lil. It’s why she kinda freaked on me when I did it for her. Doubt she expected her Mom’s remedy.” 

Ben doesn’t think it was a freakout, not by Lily standards, she just stared at Sammy like he had suddenly grown a second head, staying very, very still for a few long moments before she took the offered plate. She had looked so sad, though. Maybe it was because she realized why Sammy knew what her mother used to do for her and Jack, and thinking of Jack made her sad? Lily was a hard read, even after living together for so long, much harder to read than Sammy who only liked to think he hid his emotions well, so Ben wasn’t sure why she looked like that. And, well, she was sick. Ben felt guilty poking at sick people, even if that sick person could still verbally flay him alive, so he didn’t ask. 

“Smart man. The tea is sitting okay,” Ben says, after realizing he’s been quiet for suspiciously long, and then he yawns.

Ben’s not quite sure how it happens, but he winds up with his head resting in Sammy’s lap. Sammy’s hand absently massages his sweaty scalp and Ben enjoys the sensation far too much when it feels like every part of him hurts. He doesn’t quite fall asleep, but he drifts.

Right until the tea does decide to come back up.

Luckily, he manages to get it in the garbage can, which is right near his face on the floor, though Sammy has to keep a hold of Ben’s arm to keep him on the couch. It’s not much, what his stomach forcefully ejects, but fuck does it burn to throw up. And it _hurts_ his guts. Hurts so bad Ben can’t help a little miserable whine of pain that almost drowns out the sound of Sammy gagging but not yacking himself. Really, this is awful for Sammy. Maybe he should call Emily? But no. Emily is out of town with her mother. _Shit._ Ben groans again, missing her even though he makes quite a pathetic picture right now, half hanging off a couch and upchucking into a garbage can and he’d be embarrassed for her to see him like this. College!Ben didn’t even sink this low during some of the worst hangovers of his life. 

“Okay. I think we need to go to the hospital,” Sammy says, with the brittle kind of calmness Ben knows means he’s a second away from freaking out.

“No. I’m fine,” Ben gasps out, trusting Sammy to hold him a moment longer while he grabs at the cloth and wipes his face. “It’s just a stomach bug. What will the hospital do?”

“One, I don’t think it is just a stomach bug.” Oh, shit, Ben thinks, settling back on the couch, Sammy is counting. He’s Worried. With a capital ‘W.’ “Two, they can give you an IV and at least make it so you don’t have to deal with dehydration on top of being sick. Three, they can even give you something for nausea. Fou—“

“Stop. I can’t count past three right now,” Ben whines. Oh god, why isn’t the pain in his stomach receding like it has the last few times he’s spewed. He groans again, unable to stop himself. 

Oh, no. Sammy’s moving now, and Ben slowly realizes he’s losing his comfortable, comforting, Sammy!Pillow. Sammy’s gentle, so goddamn gentle, as he carefully moves out from under Ben’s head. He even replaces his leg with a pillow. Ben thinks Sammy’s going to leave him, instead, Sammy squats down next to the couch and holds up his phone. 

“I’ve been reading while you were asleep,” Sammy says, and Ben realizes that Sammy wants him to read what’s on his phone.

Ben squints at the phone, trying to process letters into words when his head is kind of spinny from his latest round of puking and his gut is being massaged by a stab rabbit. He frowns. “It’s not my appendix, Sammy. Lily just spent a week yacking her guts up.”

“She didn’t have a fever and she wasn’t in pain. Did your stomach hurt before you threw up the first time?”

Sammy’s not going to back down without an answer. So Ben actually takes the time and thinks about the question. Finally, he gives in and nods. 

“Right. Not good. Where does it hurt?”

Ben sighs. “Right side,” which he knows is where your appendix is, but...it’s not his appendix.

“Did it start there?” Sammy isn’t losing his patience, but each time Ben gives him the answer he expects to hear, more tension is working its way into his voice. He’s going from Worried!Sammy to Super!Worried!Sammy. 

That’s an odd question until Ben realizes Sammy’s right. He shakes his head and opens his mouth, but Sammy cuts him off before he can speak. “By your belly button?” Mega!Super!Worried!Sammy asks. 

Ben nods. “It’s not—“

“Yeah. I think it is. Lay on your back.”

It’s a testament to their friendship that Ben does just that without question, even as he tries to deny what Sammy is saying is true, bares his aching belly to the older man. Sammy’s hand hovers over Ben’s lower right side, almost by his hip, but he doesn’t touch him. “There’s a test, to see if it’s just gut pain or possibly your appendix,” Sammy explains, but he still doesn’t push down.

Oh. He’s waiting for permission. “Okay,” Ben says, even though he really, _really_ doesn’t want anyone poking his gut right now. He’s starting to think Sammy’s got a point. Or at least a reason for concern.

Sammy bites his lip and presses his hand down, and keeps his hand there. It doesn’t hurt _that_ much, it’s uncomfortable, but not painful, and Ben starts to tell Sammy that, but then Sammy lets go and Ben shouts “Shit!” instead. 

When he opens his eyes - oh, when did he close them? - it’s to see Ultra!Mega!Super!Worried!Sammy looking down at him. Ben just kind of blinks up at him, breathing deeply for a moment before he says, quietly: “We’re going to the hospital, aren’t we?”

Sammy nods. “I’ll get your shoes.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sammy didn’t even let him get dressed, just gave him a hoodie. Though, to be honest, with the way Sammy drove to the hospital, Ben is shocked Sammy got himself dressed. Shit, he wanted to call Troy and have Troy escort them to the hospital with his cruiser’s sirens blasting, but Ben put his foot down (proverbial foot only, really putting his foot down hurt too damn much) and insisted that he’d be fine with the twenty-minute drive.

Ben’s not sure who was more relieved to see that the ER was mostly empty and that they were brought in the back right away. It took the nurse four tries to get him an IV, he’s so dehydrated, but he’s got one in his arm, he’s already pissed in a cup, and he’s changed into a much too thin hospital gown. All of that happened within the first fifteen minutes of them arriving and now they’re just stuck waiting. And Sammy is _not_ handling that well. 

He’s in pain and a little freaked out, but Sammy is pretty much actively having an anxiety attack if the way he’s pacing their little curtained off area is anything to go by. His hands shake when he texts their group chat updates (sans Emily at Ben’s request, he knows it’s fucked up, but he doesn’t want to worry her). Or bitches about the lack of updates, Ben suspects, if he was interested in his own phone he could check, but he just doesn’t want to. So he just watches Sammy pace. 

“Sammy,” Ben starts carefully. Sammy stops pacing and looks ready to fight the world to get Ben what he’s about to ask for. Good. Maybe Sammy will listen to him. And maybe Ben will grow a horn right out the middle of his forehead. Heh. Uni!Ben. “Did you bring your med-“

“—no!” Sammy cuts him off vehemently. 

Ben thinks for a moment Sammy means no he didn’t take it with him, but then he remembers that both of them have emergency ones in their wallets. Tiny little packets of melt under the tongue Klonopin wafers for Sammy’s anxiety. After over a year of Sammy being prescribed the meds, the other man usually takes them when needed. Shit, they even have a code on the show for when Sammy needs to take a break and decide if he’s taking one or if he can work himself out of an anxiety loop before he spirals too hard. ‘I’m gonna get a coffee’ means Sammy needs a break to take a wafer, ‘do you need one’ added on means Sammy wants Ben's opinion on whether or not he should take it (Sammy trusts Ben's opinion, so far). So Sammy isn’t saying no he doesn’t have a wafer. He’s refusing to take it. Shit. 

“Sammy. Your hands are shaking. Take the damn med.” 

Sammy shakes his head and sits down in the chair next to Ben's bed. He actually sits on his hands like that’ll hide them from Ben. “I’ll be fine. Let’s just worry about you...find out what’s going on first. If it is your appendix and we’ll be here for a while I’ll take one then. Promise.” 

“Yeah. But it’s the not knowing what’s going on that’s making you anxious,” Ben argues. 

Sammy huffs and opens his mouth to argue back but a doctor comes in. Saved by the doc, Ben thinks. He hopes the look he gives Sammy says their conversation isn’t over. 

The doctor talks to him about his health, medications, and the like before she even gets to what brought him to the ER. Ben answers easily, right up until she asks Ben his pain level on a scale of one to ten. It’s after she’s poked his belly and now everything hurts, so he answers truthfully that it’s at like a six. 

“A six!? For how long?” Sammy asks before the doc can respond. He sounds upset. 

Ben looks at him, and yeah. Worried!Sammy has once again been replaced by Ultra!Mega!Super!Worried!Sammy. Like. Ben’s not sure Sammy’s breathing. 

“A...a while,” Ben answers, evasively. 

“Why didn’t you say something sooner, Ben!?”

The doctor is watching this all go down, and thankfully saves Ben from having to answer that question, by saying: “Well, you’re in the right place now, Mr. Arnold,” which keeps Sammy quiet for the time being. “I can get you something for the pain - do you have any allergies?” Ben shakes his head. “Good. Your urine tells me you are fighting an infection, and you’re experiencing rebound tenderness. I’m concerned this may be appendicitis. So here’s the plan: I’m gonna need you to drink something with contrast in it, and then we’ll get you in a CAT Scan to see what’s going on. Once I have those results, we’ll know if it’s your appendix or just a bad stomach bug. We’ll start you on fluids too, to help rehydrate you. How’s that sound?”

Oh. The doctor is taking this seriously. Oh, Jack in the Box Jesus, this may really be his appendix. Right until this moment, Ben realizes, he really thought Sammy was being overly protective, as he always is. And now, he’s thinking maybe Sammy is right. Shit. He’s gonna have to have surgery! He’s never had surgery. He needs his phone, he should call his Mom. And Emily. Shit.

“Mr. Arnold?” The doc asks, and Ben just nods kinda numbly, grunts ‘sounds good’ at her. “Okay then—“

“—He’s not been able to keep anything down,” Sammy butts in, which is actually a good point, and not Sammy freaking to freak. “He keeps throwing up, even tea and water. I’m not sure he’ll be able to drink anything without...” Sammy trails off. He only looks a little green to Ben. But that might be the hospital lighting. 

“Oh, is your nausea that bad?” Ben nods. “Normally we wait to see if the drink isn’t sitting well, but we can get you something for that too, preemptively. And it’ll make you more comfortable, I’d imagine.”

Again, Ben nods. “Sounds good,” he answers because she’s still looking at him. His voice is tight, a little too high. This feels very _real_ all of a sudden. If he’s being honest, it does sound good, the meds, he would love to not be in pain anymore almost as much as he wants to stop throwing up. 

“Okay. I’ll send a nurse in with those medications, and the drink. We’ll know more soon, all right?”

Ben nods again, and she leaves. He stares out the little curtained area after her. That doctor totally thinks it’s his appendix. “ _Shit_ ,” Ben says. “I have to call my Mom. And Emily.”

Ben pulls out his phone. Who does he call first? What are the rules here? Girlfriend you’re kinda trying to save the world (or at least your town) with? Or the woman who raised you single-handedly? Betty is at work, he realizes, so he calls her first, figuring it’ll be the quicker call. Ben hears the sound of Sammy opening his Klonopin wafer as he dials and finds it doesn’t offer him much relief like he usually feels, knowing his friend is admitting his need for the med- Sammy is freaking out too. 

This is serious.


	3. Chapter 3

As it turned out, neither call was easy, and now he’s managing his own anxiety, Sammy’s, Emily’s, and his Mom’s. Emily is trying to change her plane ticket home for today instead of the two days from now her ticket was for (two more she had in Pennsylvania with her family she hardly sees and she’s changing plans to be here with him...he doesn’t know how he feels about that, exactly, but guilt mixed with ‘oh, right, she really does love me’ - something Ben has to remind himself often). His mother is leaving work and coming up to Big Pine even though Ben told her twice she doesn’t need to, it’ll be a while before they even scan him, and he’s not alone, he’s got Sammy the Worry Wort with him. Like...What the fuck? Why is he having to be the level headed one? At least Sammy’s not pacing anymore. His jiggling both legs, a move that is more Ben’s style than Sammy’s, but Ben figures he can let Sammy cop his style, this one time, he knows it's a stressful situation.

Or maybe the morphine the nurse just gave him is making Ben feel generous. Gave him that with the other med to stop him from throwing up as he drinks the gross drink. It’s kinda working. The drink is gross AF, but at least he’s pretty sure he’s not going to get a second look at it. That’s something.

They sit in silence for a few minutes after the nurse leaves. Ben’s never been given morphine before, and it had made his chest feel tight, which the nurse said was normal. That’s loosened up, at least, the chest pain has gone away, but he’s still breathing a bit fast?

And now...now he’s starting to get really done with this all.

“Ben?” Sammy asks, sounding, once again, genuinely fucking worried. It’s exhausting. Sammy is always fucking worried. Ben feels like he spends half his life calming Sammy down. He’s _here_ because Sammy is worried. And Ben does not want to be here anymore.

“What?” Oh. His frustration is clear in his voice. Sammy’s worried nagging is getting to him.

“You…” Sammy trails off, frowns, starts again: “You’re getting really red. Are you sure you’re not allergic to opia—“

“—How would I fucking know!?” Ben blurts out. “I’ve never fucking had morphine before. It’s just hot in here.” He was shivering not too long ago, and now he kicks off the blanket so his legs are bare. He’s sweating. Stupid fucking hospital. He doesn’t want to be here. “Why did you make me come here? I don’t want to be here!”

Sammy stares at him for a long moment, then says, slowly, like he’s confronting someone scary: “I think I’m gonna get the nurse.”

“Fuck the nurse!” Ben yells. Oh. That feels good. He’s so fucking done with this place and this hospital and feeling like shit and not being at home in front of cartoons like he wants to be. “I need to leave,” Ben says, okay, he shouts it.

“No!” Sammy says, looking panicked. Always worried. _Always fucking worried_. “The doctor thinks—“

“Fuck the doctor too!” Ben screams.

“Ben!” Sammy has the balls to sound scandalized as if he doesn’t have the worst mouth after Lily.

“I’m leaving!” He _needs_ to leave.

Step one is getting the IV out of the back of his hand. He reaches over and starts on the tape.

“No!” Sammy shouts, launching up out of his chair and grabbing both Ben’s wrists. “Leave that!”

“Sammy, let me go!” Ben says, pulling on his arms as hard as he can. “I have to get out of here. Let me go, damnit! You mother fucker!” A part of Ben, a small, tiny voice is telling him he’s being dramatic AF, but he just wants to get out of this place, damnit. No, he _needs_ to be out of here.

“Ben, stop! What’s wrong?” Sammy doesn’t yell, but it’s close, and he doesn’t let go of Ben’s wrists. And still sound so goddamn worried.

Ben finds that he hates Sammy for it.

Huh. Up until about ten minutes ago, Ben would say there was nothing on this planet that could make him hate Sammy Stevens. Right now though? Right now he’s ready to take Sammy’s head off if it means he can leave this hospital.

“Shut the fuck up Sammy and let me go!” He screams. He needs to leave. “I want to leave. You’re being ridiculous, it's not my appendix and I want to go. Let me take the IV out!”

“No, Ben, _stop_!”

Each time Sammy says no, Ben feels himself getting angrier. How dare Sammy make him come here because he’s so fucking anxious all the time and worries too fucking much about everyone! How dare Sammy not let him leave! As hard as Ben pulls, to try and get his arms free, Sammy holds him just as tightly. One of them hasn’t spent the last however many hours puking up everything. Ben has desperation on his side, but not strength.

“Let me go! I’m leaving! I need to leave!” Ben tries. He’s aware his face is wet and it’s not sweat but tears. Sammy doesn’t understand he needs to leave, and it’s so frustrating it is making it hard for Ben to breathe. He pulls his arms in close to his chest, quick, so Sammy rocks forward, their faces inches apart. Ben screams in his face: “Sammy, let me go goddamnit!” Sammy turns his head, presumably because he feels guilty, like he should, for making Ben come here not because he’s freaked out looking into Ben’s wild eyes. Ben keeps going, right in his ear. “You fucking cock sucking son of a bitch let me go!” Sammy flinches at the insult, but he holds fast. Ben gets meaner. Anything to get Sammy to let go of him, to let him take his IV out and _leave_. “You don’t have to smother me just because your parents were too fucking shitty to take care of you when you were sick as a kid!”

Sammy’s hands stay tight around his wrists, despite the pure, raw hurt on his face. Ben screams wordlessly and drives his head forward. He can’t get his hands free, but he can head but. And Sammy, apparently, never expected Ben to strike him.

 _Good_.

His head catches Sammy just above his right eyebrow, and they both yell “ **Fuck!** ” at the same time. It hurts Ben too. A lot.

But! Sammy lets go of his grip around Ben’s IV hand to press the heel of his hand to his head, to where blood is coming from the cut Ben’s skull opened up. Ben immediately moves his free hand over to the one still in Sammy’s grip, ready to pull out the IV. He almost makes it, but Sammy recovers too quickly, grabbing Ben’s arm again, pulling their hands apart.

Ben curses and squirms, trying to get out of Sammy’s hold. Why can’t Sammy see he needs to leave this fucking ER _right now_! Ben gives up on getting his hands together and tries to raise their hands up to his mouth, bending down so that he can get his teeth on the tape holding the IV in.

“Ben! Stop it!”

“Fuck you!” Ben screams right back with another headbutt.

Sammy dodges that one, but not Ben’s third headbutt - because as Ben launches his head forward, someone rips open the curtain. Ben’s head collides with Sammy’s right eye. Sammy shouts “Fuck!” again, but he doesn’t let go.

The nurse comes into Ben’s hazy view - he’s kind of crying so hard he can’t see why is he crying?... The nurse looks shocked to see two grown men struggling with each other. “Mr. Arn-“

“—Fuck you, cocksucker!” Ben screams, cutting him off. “Let me go! I _need_ to leave!”

“He got all red and then he started crying and trying to leave and trying to pull out his IV,” Sammy tells the nurse, talking right over Ben, voice full of tension as he struggles against Ben. _Good_. Ben goes back to name-calling, trying to scream curses over their conversation. Sammy ignores him, the bastard, and adds in: “Annnd screaming.” Right. As if the nurse wasn’t fucking standing right fucking here listening to him, seeing all this! What a dumbass, Sammy!

“Oh. It’s a reaction! I’ll be right back with the doctor!” The nurse says most of it over his shoulder as he runs away. “One moment!”

“Right,” Sammy agrees, voice tight. There’s blood dripping from his eyebrow and Ben doesn’t even _care_. He wants to see more of Sammy’s blood if it means he can go home.

He gets two more attempts at headbutts that Sammy dodges. Then he gets smart and presses Ben’s arms down in his lap and lays across them, his back to Ben’s chest, so Ben can’t raise his arms up anymore or swing his head at Sammy’s head because of the position. The whole time, Ben screams curses at Sammy, at the hospital, at the doctor and the nurse even though they’re not in their little cubicle. He’s sobbing too, great big gasping sobs.

“This is your fault you cocksucking son of a mother fucking bitch!” Ben screams at Sammy, and leans forward, sinking his teeth into Sammy’s upper arm, where his t-shirt sleeve cuts off, the first bit of exposed flesh Ben can reach. He tastes blood and just clamps down harder, actually shaking his head a bit like a rabid dog. He _feels_ rabid. He doesn’t care, he just _needs_ Sammy to fucking let go of him.

Sammy cries out wordlessly and tries to pull his arm away from Ben, but Ben keeps his jaw clamped tight. Fuck Worried!Sammy making him come here and stay here and not letting him go, fuck him sideways.

“What on Earth!?” A new voice asks, cutting through the tirade in Ben’s head for a moment.

“Fuck you too, Troy!” Ben screams, releasing Sammy’s arm from his mouth in the process, just so the Sheriff knows where he stands right now, too. Troy looks hurt and more than a little confused. Then Ben realizes that Troy might be able to help him. “Get Sammy the fuck off me! I need to get out of here!” He begs, instead of screaming some more.

Troy is staring at him like he has grown a horn out his forehead like he’s lost his damn mind. And maybe he has. He leans down, intending to bite Sammy again, but Troy lunges forward, pressing Ben’s shoulders back against the bed. When Ben tries to turn his head and bite Troy’s arm, Troy changes his hold to one arm across his chest and the other hand against his forehead. The hand on his head moves with him instead of restraining him but doesn’t let him get in biting range.

“Fuck you!” Ben screams.

At the same time, Sammy says: “He’s having a reaction! I don’t—“

The nurse and the doctor join the fray. Ben kicks at one of them, he’s not sure who it’s kinda hard to see. A pair of hands hold down his legs. Fuck them! Why won’t they let him leave? He needs to fucking leave!

Saline fills his sinuses for a minute, and then the feeling of something else pushing through the IV. Ben shouts curses for a moment or two longer. “What’s going on?” Troy asks again, and a moment later: “Both of you are bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” Sammy answers, but he sounds _scared_.

“How ya doing, Ben? Gonna bite me if I let go of your head?”

Ben doesn’t know. His fucking head hurts, and his belly. And...fuck. Just...fuck. He bites his lip and shakes his head. More tears leak out the corner of his eyes.

“Good. ‘Cause I swear, little man, if I can dodge Jacob Williams trying to bite me, I sure as hell can dodge you. Don’t get bitey or I’ll restrain ya again.”

Ben nods, as much as he can with Troy’s hand on his head. He sniffs, annoyed at the tears blurring his vision. Goddamn whatever they put in the IV has made him tired. He doesn’t quite feel in his body.

Troy lets go of his head. Ben doesn’t lift it up, or move, really. Neither does Sammy. Not until Troy takes his arm off Ben’s chest, and taps Sammy’s back. “I think you can get up, now, bud. I’m right here if he tries to pull at the IV again. But I think we're good, right Ben?”

Ben nods. He’s not gonna go for the IV again. Sammy doesn’t move, for a long moment. His chest is heaving almost as much as Ben’s is still. “‘S okay, Sammy,” Ben tells him, frowning at the slur in his voice. It’s so hard to talk. His eyes want to close on him.

Sammy straightens up, his back to Ben, and keeps a hold of his IV hand. “What just happened?” Sammy asks the doctor and nurse.

The doctor looks around Sammy to him, holding up a hand at Sammy. Ben stares at the circle of red on his bed, the side of his thigh. Is his leg bleeding?

“How are you feeling, Ben?” The doctor asks, using his first name for the first time.

Ben doesn’t know how to answer that. He feels like he’s just ran a marathon, twice, _backwards_. His belly hurts again, really bad from all that moving around. He feels fucking _awful_ , but not like he’s going to die if he doesn’t leave this ER. Is that an improvement? He’s not sure. He’s so fucking tired. He manages a shrug, honestly unsure of what just happened, what is happening.

“You just had a very adverse reaction to the Reglan we gave you for the nausea,” the doctor says.

“Oh,” Ben answers because he thinks he should say something and he’s just not sure what to say right now. He sniffs again, and wipes at his eyes with the hand Sammy’s not still holding down against the bed in a loose grip.

“Hmm, I know that was scary. I had someone describe it to me as feeling like a panic attack on steroids. We’ve had patients pick up their IV poles and try and leave the ER with them over their shoulders,” her voice is so damn gentle and understanding.

Ben manages a small smile. “Shoulda tried that,” he mumbles, and Sammy huffs out a laugh. “Whatcha give me?”

“Benadryl. Having it on top of the morphine is making you very sleepy, I imagine.” Ben nods. “I need you to try and stay awake, okay?”

“Why?” He doesn’t mean to sound so childish when he asks it, but his head hurts. He was up all night puking. He just wants to sleep.

She laughs, not unkindly. “We need to check for a concussion. I think you headb— I think you hit your heads together while you were struggling.”

“Twice,” Sammy sighs out. His back is still towards Ben. Ben doesn’t know why that’s freaking him out. As it is, Ben can see the sleeve of Sammy’s t-shirt sticking to his arm, where a few lazy rivulets of blood are soaking out. Ben...Ben bit him? And — _shit_ —

“Sammy? I hurt you?” Ben asks, ignoring the doctor’s comment about a concussion. Things are hazy, but he thinks he knows he hurt Sammy.

Sammy’s shoulders rise up to around his ears for a long moment, his back going tense, but then Troy pats his arm - the one Ben didn’t bite like a fucking animal - and Sammy all but deflates with a sigh. “I—kinda—but—“ Sammy stutters like he can’t figure out what he wants to say but knows he’s supposed to say _something_ , and he breaks off to sigh heavily. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“Look at me?”

Sammy sighs again but doesn’t turn around. He pulls the collar of his shirt up, the nurse actually hisses like that’s the worst thing he could be doing, and he turns around only after using the shirt to wipe at the blood on his face. He’s only managed to smear it around. Ben can tell he’s been bleeding _a lot_.

“Fuck,” Ben whispers, closing his eyes. If he had stopped crying, he’d start up again, seeing blood on Sammy’s face that he caused. And, he’s pretty sure he said some really shitty stuff, too.

“Hey,” Sammy says, voice so gentle, so damn understanding. “I’m okay. It’s fine. I’ll go wash up and—“

“—I’m admitting you,” the doctor cuts in, apparently only knowing Sammy for a short time but not having any of his lack of self-preservation bullshit. Ben kinda loves her. She’s not even giving Sammy the option. Just telling him. “I need to check you for a concussion as well. You may need stitches. At the very least we need to disinfect the bite on your arm. Mouths are filthy.”

Sammy looks at his arm like he’s surprised to see the perfect imprint of Ben’s teeth there, nearly all of them having torn the skin. “Oh,” Sammy says, and opens his mouth to argue, even drugged, Ben knows Sammy’s about to say he’s fine.

“Come with me, and I’ll get you triaged,” the nurse says, also not one for Sammy’s bullshit, apparently.

Sammy frowns at the nurse, and at Ben and the doctor and even Troy. He looks about ready to pitch the kind of fit Ben just did except in reverse. ‘I’m not leaving this cubicle’ is all over his face.

And the nurse sees it. “The cubicle next door is open. I just need to bring you to the triage station for a few minutes to get you in the system, and then we’ll come right back here to your boyf—“ The nurse seems to catch himself just before he finishes. He nods at Sammy’s ring. “-Sorry. Fiancé.”

Sammy stares at Ben. Ben stares back at Sammy. Considering the morphine and the Benadryl, it’s kinda unfair that Ben’s the one to break first. He’s under the influence! He starts to giggle, and Sammy joins him. Troy, after a moment, laughs too.

“Nah,” Troy says, actually wiping tears from his eyes. “They’re not—“ he has to break off and giggle some more. “I’ll stay right here, Sammy. Go get triaged.”

“Ben?” Sammy asks between laughs. Checking in with him, always. Ben no longer deserves it.

Ben makes a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on,” he tells Sammy. “I’ll be fine, darling.”

That makes fresh surprised laughter burst out of Sammy, and Ben is happy to see the tension has seeped out of him. “Sure thing, babe,” he says, and lets the nurse lead him away.


	4. Chapter 4

A few days later, Ben is on the couch watching cartoons. He’s got the tv remote, a bottle of water (a reusable one because Sammy isn’t the only hippie in the house - Ben hates the granola diet and taking hikes, but likes the ‘lets maybe not kill the planet’ vibe) and light, queasy stomach friendly snacks (he still feels a little nauseous from the heavy meds required to send him under for the surgery, from the Vicodin he’s taking now for pain relief - and no, Ben is never a-fucking-gain taking an anti-nausea med, so saltines, dry toast - still crustless and cut in fours, even if he really, _really_ doesn’t deserve it - and chicken broth and rice is all he is willing to try and eat) are all laid out for him. As if Sammy isn’t sitting in the armchair right there to help Ben if he needs anything. As if his overly protective, near smothering nursemaiding hasn’t made both Emily and his own mother agree that Ben was in good hands and they could work. Emily comes home right after (and goddamn does Ben love having her stay at their place) and his mom is cooking then dinner and bringing it over every night. They were there at the hospital when Ben woke from surgery, and the first day he came home, all loopy from meds, when he pretty much just slept. But at some point, Ben managed to convince them both he was fine, really, so please go to work if you need to. 

Ben suspects that Emily is differing to Sammy, allowing him to take care of Ben because Sammy’s near-obsessive _need_ to do just that - he won’t relax even when Emily is around. Emily’s good like that, adapting her plans to make sure others are getting what they need emotionally, and apparently in this case, she’s decided that Sammy needs to be playing Nurse!Sammy much more than she needs to be Nurse!Emily ( ~~she probably knew that Ben needed to be around Sammy while he still could be~~ ). In a private conversation (Nurse!Sammy would at least let Ben out of his sight if Emily was there, so that was...something), Ben assured her it was fine if she returned to work a few days earlier than she was even supposed to, because there was always a shit ton of work to be done at her library, she didn’t have a lot of leave, and, really, who knew when one needed to take off of work to deal with Shadows with a capital S or other King Falls messes, so going back to work and conserving her days off was the best choice. He just made sure she understood, unequivocally, that it wasn’t him choosing his best friend ( ~~if they are still that~~ ) over his girlfriend. It is the more practical, ‘I can see you after work’ slash ‘we can part for eight hours’ kinda decision. _And_ he just mostly sleeps in front of the TV anyway, so it’s not worth taking off of work for, to just sit with him while he sleeps, right? Though, of course, Sammy is staying home, even though Emily would be home with him the entire time Sammy would be at the station. Sammy just declared ‘ _I told Merv we’d be off for a week_ ,’ when Ben came out of surgery. There was no arguing with Nurse!Sammy, ~~even if you didn’t deserve Nurse!Sammy in your life~~.

Truthfully, physically he feels okay. Not great — they did cut out an organ, a useless one or not - and he did have a few stitches in his belly to show for it, that aches when he moves too much, and he’s so damn _tired_ still...but it’s not his body that is his problem. It’s Sammy’s. More specifically the giant fucking black eye and the thin line of stitches along Sammy’s right eyebrow. Shit, Ben knows Sammy has three stitches in his arm too, places where Ben’s teeth scored so deep they needed them to close the wound. Sammy is taking antibiotics for fucks sake.

And it’s all his doing. He did this to his best fucking friend. He hurt Sammy, called him awful names. Made him _bleed_. Ben has been low in his life, has a whole year he knows he was awful to deal with, but goddamn he has never hated himself as much as he does right now. Sammy will have _scars_. 

And goddamnit Sammy just keeps on helping him. Brushing it all off like Ben didn’t intentionally hurt him mentally and physically. Like he’s not going to have a scar from Ben hurting him. Ben has apologized at least a dozen times since he woke up from the surgery. Every time, Sammy brushes it off. Like it was nothing.

But it was something. It was Ben hurting a friend, his best- _fucking_ -friend and one of the best men he knows (no fucking matter how Sammy would disagree with him there). Someone he’s sworn to himself he would never hurt because Sammy Stevens is a man full of scars and gaping wounds. Wounds and scars Ben only gets glimpses of, but he knows are there all the same. Sammy is a walking, talking raw wound, half scabbed over, hurt by just about everyone that should’ve just loved him and protected him, and now Ben is on that list too.

“Ben?” Sammy asks it tentatively, like he’s afraid of Ben. As he fucking should be. ~~or worried about him?~~ No, Ben can’t even hope.

Ben hums to show he’s listening, but can’t look up from the blanket, can’t see that swollen blue-black eye (thankfully not swollen shut, at least) and black line of stitches. He _can’t_. 

Suddenly, Sammy is kneeling in front of him, invading his line of sight. That’s cheating! The look on Sammy’s face, such open goddamn concern, is killing Ben. 

‘Don’tdeservedon’tdeserve’ his brain screams at him and he closes his eyes against the love he’s lost the right to have he can see in Sammy’s eyes. The trust. The concern. Something warm and wet rolls down his cheeks and Ben realizes he’s crying. Has been crying, he thinks. Maybe that’s what got Sammy’s attention. 

“Aw, Ben,” Sammy says in a whisper, sounds like he’s in pain for him. 

Ben doesn’t deserve it. He shakes his head. He’s not even sure what he’s shaking his head about. 

“You should go,” Ben tells him, eyes still closed. Still streaming tears. 

Sammy’s breath stutters for a moment, then sounds like it does when he’s having a panic attack, like his ribs are constricting around his lungs. Ben hates the sound almost as much as he hates himself. They sit in silence for a few heartbeats, heavy, loud pounding thuds in Ben's ears, his heart breaking. 

“Do—“ Sammy’s voice breaks, he clears his throat, starts again “Do you really want me to?” It sounds like it hurts Sammy to ask those words. 

Ben knows they’re both not talking about just leaving the living room right now, but leaving forever. And, he realizes with a whimper, Sammy sounds reluctantly ready to follow whatever Ben asks of him. Listening to his breathing, through everything Ben knows about Sammy and how hard he’s had to fight to get _here_ to a place where he allows himself to love and to see he is loved, Ben knows Sammy’s heart is shattering from just the idea of Ben telling him to leave. But he’ll still go. If Ben tells him to.

“Fuck,” Ben breaths out, and then he opens his eyes, lunging for the blurry shape of Sammy in front of him, wrapping his arms as tightly around the other man as he can. 

Sammy manages to keep Ben from hitting the ground, though the jolt of him landing in Sammy’s lap instead makes him groan from the pain that radiates out from where he was sewn up. But Sammy’s holding him back and Ben is fucking sobbing, which also fucking hurts, but not nearly as much the pain wrapped around his heart hurts. 

“Don’t go,” Ben says between gasps for breath. “But you should.” 

Sammy actually laughs at that, a sad little sound. “Mixed messages, man,” he says but he doesn’t let go. So Ben knows Sammy is hearing the ‘staystaystay’ in Ben’s heartbeat despite whatever bullshit his brain and mouth are actually saying. 

Ben gets himself under control, though it takes a long time. He drifts from full out sobs into hiccuping gaps for breath. Realizes Sammy’s been rocking them. Neither of them speak, Ben doesn’t have the capacity. 

“Is this about…?” Sammy starts to ask but trails off for a moment. Ben thinks he’s trying to find the delicate way to phrase Ben flipping his shit and scarring him for life.. “...the thing at the hospital?” Sammy goes with in the end. 

Ben huffs out a bitter laugh into Sammy’s shoulder. “The thing at the hospital? You know, when I scarred you for life?” Ben asks sarcasm and self-loathing dripping from his wet voice. “Yeah. Sammy. That fucking thing a the hospital.” 

Sammy huffs and shifts like he’s trying to get Ben to look at him. Which is kind of hard to avoid sitting on the man's lap, after all. But Ben presses his wet eyes into Sammy’s shoulder harder. Refusing to look Sammy in the eyes. Which lasts right up until Sammy says: “Ben. Look at me. Please?” 

Ben can’t tell Sammy no. Not hardly ever. Definitely not right now. He raises his eyes to Sammy’s. Goddamn, it hurts to see that black eye, the line of stitches. But…But Sammy looks worried for him, and that’s it. Sammy’s not angry. In fact, he smiles when Ben looks at him, a little sad, yeah, but a smile all the same. 

“You didn’t mean to hurt me,” Sammy tells him, slowly, carefully, with conviction. It’s not a question. 

“Oh, I meant it. I remember thinking ‘this will get him to let go’ and then slamming my head into yours,” Ben tells him, miserably, curing his eyes to the side, to break that painful eye contact. Fuck he doesn't want to tell Sammy these truths, but Sammy deserves to know. 

“I mean...you meant to hurt me in the moment, but not really.” Off Ben’s confused look, he continues: “You weren’t trying to hurt _me_ , you were trying to get the person holding you to let you go. It just happened that I was that person.” 

“I don’t…” Ben admits with a frown, trailing off. 

“If it had been a nurse holding you down, you would’ve done the same to them.” 

Ben thinks about it, then nods. “Yeah. I guess. But it just makes it worse that it was _you_ that I hurt.” 

“Why? You weren’t in control at all, Ben. All you wanted was to get out of that hospital bed, and there was an obstacle in your way. You didn’t have the ability to understand why I wasn’t letting you leave, or even why you felt you needed to leave so badly. You were pretty much knocked down to your base instincts. That’s what panic does.” 

Ben realizes: Sammy has been planning this response for as long as Ben has been stewing in his guilt. Shit, maybe longer -Sammy was in his right mind after everything went down, while Ben was discovering how ‘fun’ it was to mix IV opiates and Benadryl. He thinks...he thinks he might lose this argument just because Sammy has had a long time to think about it. Or maybe, a part of him doesn’t want to win. 

He sighs. “I didn’t just hurt just anyone, Sammy, I hurt _you_. You’re gonna have scars.” Ben says it with the gravity the statement deserves like it’s one of the most awful things he could have done to his friend. Because it is. 

Sammy shrugs, as if it’s nothing. “I’ve got plenty of those. Getting one tiny scar from stopping my best friend from accidentally hurting himself...that’s kinda worth it in my book.” 

Ben huffs. He can’t argue with that because, had the situation been reversed, and he got a scar from stopping Sammy from doing something harmful to himself like leaving the hospital in the middle of a case of appendicitis….yeah. He’d be okay with it too. 

Sammy must think his silence means he needs more convincing because he starts talking again. “Look. Say we were in a car, and I was driving—" 

Ben can see where Sammy’s going with this and cuts him off: “—that's not at all the same!” 

“—don’t interrupt I’m not done.” When Ben is silent he goes on: “I was driving, and the breaks went out. There was no way for me to steer the car, and we hit a wall. Would you blame me if you got hurt?” 

Ben growls in frustration. Goddammit. “No.” 

Sammy smiles at him. “Good! I wouldn’t blame you either. So why the fuck would I blame you now?” 

“Because I was in control!” 

“No, Ben, you really weren’t. I get panic attacks. You can’t tell me I’m fully in control of myself when I have them. And the doctor even said what you went through was even worse than that.” 

Ben huffs, draws a hand across his eyes in an attempt to not look like a drippy snotty mess. Maybe if he does Sammy will take him more seriously. “It’s not the same. You’ve never hurt me when you have a panic attack!” 

“Oh I have too! Maybe not physically, though I do remember almost knocking you down once when I ran into you trying to get out of the grocery store before Ron saw me.” Ben frowns, he knows exactly when Sammy’s talking about - and indeed he had a bruise from getting nearly bowled over when Sammy’s shoulder slammed into his- but he hadn’t even realized that Sammy was having a panic attack at that moment. Sammy continues before Ben can say anything about that. “And how about all the times I've told you I didn’t want you around? I think the phrase ‘fuck off you goddamn hyperactive munchkin’ was said.” 

Ben laughs, he can’t help it, at the insult. But Sammy is right, being told to fuck off did hurt...he’s almost ready to concede Sammy’s point, and he’s feeling better for it...Then he remembers. “Fuck, Sammy I said some awful things too.” Oh, his voice is shaking, his eyes burning. Threatening tears. Again. 

Sammy frowns, then gives Ben the most understanding, gentle smile. “What? About why I’m always so worried and overprotective when you, or anyone, isn’t feeling well?” 

Ben swallows hard. Digs his own grave by saying: “You know how fucked up I phrased it, Sammy. I was cruel. I shouldn't have even said it.” 

Sammy shakes his head. “Nah. You said a shitty truth, yeah. But the truth is exactly how you said it: my parents were shitty and didn’t give a fuck if I was sick, not really. They,” Sammy gives a laugh that is not a good laugh, makes Ben’s stomach twist for Sammy. “We can just say they weren’t nurturing types.” 

Ben sighs. “It wasn’t a nice thing to say to a friend.” Sammy shrugs and looks like he’s going to tell Ben it’s okay again. So instead Ben keeps going: “You flinched when I called you a cocksucker. I know that hurt.” Because he’s not ready to brush off his cruelty like Sammy seems to be ready to. 

And Sammy, goddamnit, Sammy laughs again. Like really laughs. “I mean, again, you weren’t wrong. I am someone who does suck cock.” 

“Then why did you flinch like I hit you?” Ben asks. Because he doesn’t believe he didn’t hurt Sammy. Not when the other man flinched so hard as he screamed it. 

Sammy gets that ‘oh, goddamnit, I have to share about myself and you’re not going to like what I say’ look on his face (and how fucked up is it that Ben knows what that face looks like?). He looks away from Ben, and scratches across his collarbone like he does when he’s stressed about talking about his feelings (or his past). “I--I don’t react well when someone screams directly into my ear...especially when they’re angry.” Sammy looks miserable admitting this, and also kinda like he’s begging Ben not to ask any questions. “So, uh, that’s why I flinched.” There’s something more there, deeper than just dislike of the act, but Ben can’t bring himself to push Sammy for more details. He files the thought away for later, to make sure he never does that again to Sammy - clearly he hit a trigger, and he never wants to do that again. He’s sure, painfully, heartbreakingly sure, that _someone_ or, _someones_ used to yell directly into Sammy’s ears, and that freaks Sammy out. 

“It...it’s kinda homophobic of me to call you that, Sammy,” Ben argues instead. He can fully believe Sammy when he says why he flinched, but he can’t excuse himself for calling his gay friend a cocksucker! 

“Okay,” Sammy sighs out. “I don’t have a great history with that word, no. And even a few years ago, I’d have spiraled if you, _if anyone_ , called me that. But you called me a cocksucker the last time I beat you at Splatoon, Ben.” _Fuck_ , Ben doesn’t remember ever saying that… “Don’t freak out on me, I’m not telling you to upset you. I’m telling you to make my point: if it bothered me I’d have told you so then. But it didn’t and it still doesn’t. I mean, you also called the toaster a cocksucker the time you got shocked by it when you stuck a fork in there -once again, a thing every fucking person older than about ten knows not to do, by the way.” Ben can’t help the fond eye roll he gives at Sammy’s admonishment. “I think you just like it as a curse word. You didn’t call me a fa—“ 

“—Don’t say it, please,” Ben cuts him off, begging. The idea of _ever_ calling Sammy that word makes Ben feel positively sick. Even hearing it said as a thing he didn’t do is too much. 

And that just makes Sammy smile more. Goddamnit it’s his ‘I’m winning an argument’ smile. “Exactly! You didn’t call me that. You would fucking never call me that. You get upset and ready to fight the world anytime anyone calls me or anyone else that. So, no, you calling me a cocksucker - while under the influence of a mind-altering drug interaction - was not a homophobic act. And, once again so we’re clear, it isn’t really an insult, man, because I do indeed suck cock.” 

Sammy’s face is so red as he says that last bit. He’s not the type to really talk about having sex at all, especially not specific sex acts, now that Ben thinks about it. But he’s willing to say it to make his point. And goddamn does Ben love him for it. And...that realization gives Ben the strength to teasingly ask: “Soooo…what you’re saying is, if I called you a, uh…” Ben searches his brain for a similar ‘insult’ from the het perspective and comes up super empty. He continues, lamely: “a—uh, vagina licker?-“ he’s sure his face shows how lame he thinks that is, but it’s the best he’s got. “You’d be upset?” Okay. Why are all the common sex act based insults against those that please men? (And yeah he knows it’s because of the twin horrors that are misogyny and homophobia….but still. WTF.) 

And then he forgets to think about the awfuls of the world because in his little world, Sammy throws back his head and laughs. Ben can’t help it and laughs too. “Leave me alone! I couldn’t come up with anything better!” He admits with a giggle. 

Sammy has tears in his eyes from laughing so hard. And Ben thinks he can get used to looking at that bruised eye and the little black line of stitches if it means seeing this pure joyful amusement in Sammy’s eyes. And...under that is still the same fondness and love for him that Ben always sees in Sammy’s eyes. Shit, it was there even as Ben was screaming at him and head butting him. 

Fresh tears (damn he thought he had cried them all out) burn at Ben’s eyes. He leans forward and hugs Sammy again, pressing his face to Sammy’s shoulder. It’s probably weird that they’ve had this whole conversation with Ben sitting in Sammy’s lap on the floor, now that Ben thinks about it, but he’s just so grateful that he can do this - be held while he cries, _again_ \- that he tries not to think about the strangeness of where he’s sitting. 

After a moment, Sammy asks: “Talk to me, Ben?” He sounds confused, and a bit worried. 

Ben sighs and pulls away from Sammy’s shoulder, and then, reluctantly, pulls himself up to sitting back on the couch. The closeness was nice, but he needs to see Sammy’s face. “You’re really, _really_ , not mad at all, are you?” 

“I’m very much _not_ mad at you, Ben. I never was. You have no reason to feel guilty, or worry that I’m upset with you. I promise.” 

Ben looks away from him for a moment, gathering courage before he speaks. “You swore to me, Sammy, after The Void, that you’d never lie to me again.” He always hates himself a bit when he brings up That Night, but he needs to know for 100% certainly that Sammy re _fucking_ eally doesn’t blame him. 

He expects Sammy to be defensive like he often (but not always) is when That Night is brought up. Instead, Sammy quietly asks: “Look at me?” 

Ben does. How can he not? 

The day after That Night (and about a hundred other times in the days, weeks, months after he nearly lost his best fucking friend to suicide), Ben sat and thought, really fucking hard, about the months between That Night and when Sammy was outed. He replayed every single goddamn conversation they had about Sammy leaving, about his plans for the future. And...Ben could see the thousand times Sammy lied in the months leading up to his attempt at suicide via The Void, so Ben _knows_ what it looks like when Sammy Stevens is lying. And he’s not lying right now. 

“I promise on Ja—“ 

Oh. _No_. That’s too sacred. Ben cuts him off saying: “—you don’t have to—“ 

“—yeah, I do. I mean it, Ben. I promise on Jack’s life I’m not lying to you.” 

Ben swallows hard, and nods. “Okay,” he says, running a hand through his, admittedly greasy, curls. “Okay,” he repeats. He’s a bit shell shocked, not only by Sammy’s promise, his swearing on Jack himself, the most solemn vow Sammy could possibly make, in Sammy’s eyes, Ben knows, but he’s also more than a bit shocked to find he’s forgiven at all. He really hadn’t expected to be. 

And Sammy, damn him, sees it on Ben’s face. “Oh, come on. Tell me you wouldn’t have forgiven me if our roles were reversed.” 

“I would’ve,” Ben agrees immediately. 

Sammy laughs again. “I guess I should have led with that!” 

Ben finds himself laughing too. “I mean...you did have very well thought out arguments planned. With good metaphors!” 

Sammy shakes his head, laughing, getting up and moving to sit on the couch next to Ben. He asks “One thing, though?” 

"Anything!” Ben promises a bit quick, a bit over-eager to make amends, still. 

He pulls up this sleeve to fully display the bite to Ben. “If this scars, you're going to explain to Jack why I have your teeth marks on my skin. Deal?” Sammy is smirking as he says it, clearly joking. 

Sammy says it like it’s a given that he’ll see Jack again. Not too long ago he didn’t dare act like he thought it was even possible for Jack to return to him. Ben’s so happy to hear that to fall into another guilt spiral when he sees the mark his teeth left. It’s ugly and dark and there are lines where Sammy needed stitches, Ben bit so hard. 

But Sammy looks so amused, and he did just swear he wasn’t mad at Ben. Ben thinks Sammy’s teasing. He thinks. So, Ben grins at him. “Why, Sammy? Is getting bitten so hard you bleed your _thing_?” 

As he suspected he would, Sammy goes bright red and looks away. Making Sammy Stevens blush is one of Ben’s favorite things. But, after a moment, Sammy laughs, and that, _that_ , is really one of Ben’s favorite things: making Sammy laugh. 

He decides, sitting there laughing at how red Sammy is, laughing harder when Sammy calls him an ‘ _evil little munchkin,_ ’ Ben decides to forgive himself for what he really couldn’t control, and just enjoy the moment. 

Which only lasts until Ben winces and holds his stomach near the incision. Then Nurse!Sammy returns. 

Ben finds, as Sammy starts to fuss over him, telling him to stay still while he jumps up to fetch the pain meds Ben is due for, that he’s glad to see Nurse!Sammy* 

**Author's Note:**

> So, no joke, I was one of the lucky few who had a bad reaction to Reglan. I wasn't as violent as Ben is in the fic, but only because my mother physically held me down while I rocked, cried, and cursed out her and everyone within a five-foot radius. No joke, it's been almost 15 years and I can still remember how awful I felt that day. Like I would die if I spent another minute in that hospital (it didn't help that the ER was so full I was on a gurney in the hallway!). They gave me IV Benadryl and it was like an instant switch being flipped back from 'FIGHT OR FLIGHT!' to 'oh, we're cool.' 
> 
> So this one was based on a real life experience. Just with added angst for our boys.


End file.
